


In which Dave is supposed to help Karkat adjust to his university but instead rambles his way into his heart

by Bersenev



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - No Sburb Session, Alternate Universe - Non Abusive Bro, Fluff, Humanstuck, M/M, Pen Pals, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 21:13:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13796469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bersenev/pseuds/Bersenev
Summary: Dave just started going to the local university in Skaia after moving back in with his brother. A failed attempt at moving together with his best friend John and a wrong major later he wants nothing more than some peace and quiet and time to figure out what he wants to do with his life.Karkat is a foreign exchange student that applied to Skaia university where his brother Kankri works as a proffessor. Unsure about living in a new city he asks him for help. All Karkat wants is to quietly finish his education with as little trouble as possible.Both of their plans get a little messed up when Kankri tells Dave to message Karkat and help him adjust to the new city.





	In which Dave is supposed to help Karkat adjust to his university but instead rambles his way into his heart

You want to write something.  
  
You want to write something but you really don’t know what to write, because what even is there to write about?  
  
Usually the words flow from your fingers like notes during a concert, or like vomit after a few vodka shots too many. It really depended on the person you talked to which of those comparisons applied. Some people find you obnoxious and every word from your lips is a huge spit bubble popping right in their face and they don’t really appreciate you getting all up in their faces just to make spit bubbles. Then there are people that might describe the things you say as poetic. You haven’t encountered a person like that yet but you’re sure they exist.  
  
Probably.  
  
Whether or not your word vomit is sign an artistic masterpiece or just the rambling of an annoying prick isn’t the point right now though. The point is that you want to write something but really don’t know what.  
  
See, a while ago you’ve been told that there would be a foreign exchange undergrad coming to your college. Now usually you wouldn’t give a flying fuck about that and quite frankly you still don’t, but there are things in life even someone as cool as you can’t control.  
  
One of those things you can’t control is that your professor decided that said exchange undergrad would get a designated person to help them adjust to your university. Now you haven’t been filled in on how said person has been chosen but for some reason it’s you.  
  
You, Dave Strider, are going to be in charge of helping some poor asshole adjust to your shithole of a university, which is more than ironic because you don’t even know how to navigate the sacred halls of hell yourself.  
  
But there’s more!  
  
Before said undergrad arrives in your city you’re supposed to become pen pals with them, do some bonding and all that jazz, which leads to the opening premise of this whole affair.  
  
For the first time in your life you don’t know what to write at all. At first you thought it was a good thing that the person had a pesterchum because at least you didn’t have to be all awkward and write an email but now you’re not so sure whether that actually helps you anymore. Chatting means short messages and that means you can’t really introduce yourself without seeming all derpy like your friend John and while you love the dude you do not want to seem like John.  
  
You chew on your lips worriedly, typing and deleting multiple messages rapidly.  
  
“hi im“ Deleted  
“sup“ Deleted  
“so hows“ Deleted  
  
The keyboard you’re typing on comes dangerously close to being destroyed as you let your head fall on your desk right in front of it. This action does nothing to solve your problem but at least manages to give you a headache and a red spot on your forehead that you could probably pass of as a new disease on wikipedia if you really wanted to.  
  
In a pain induced haze you decide to just get this over with so you can go back to your turntables and do something nice with all the time you have on a Sunday.  
  
\--turntechGodhead [TG] began pestering carcinoGeneticist [CG] at 14:36--

TG:sup

  
Perfect. If that message doesn’t say „Hey I don’t want to know you but let’s be best friends forever because my prof told me to“ then you really don’t know what does.  
  
Maybe if you’re lucky they decide to not write you back, but just in case they do you wait in front of your computer for a minute or two, just starring at it obsessively while refreshing the page over and over again.  
  
After five minutes of that you close pesterchum with a huff. It’s cool, you’re cool. Who cares if you just made a really bad first impression on this person you don’t know. You don’t. They can hate you for all you care...  
  
For a while you don’t move at all just zoning out for a bit, before you reopen pesterchum while rocking back and forth anxiously.  
  
TG: im dave  
TG: my prof told me to write you so here i am blessing you with my amazingly cool presence  
TG: peasant be bowing down to my aura of majesty and irony  
TG: can you see them weeping in the stands man, some are even crying thats how fucking monumental it is to meet me shit i think one just abandoned their kid to come closer  
TG: its like mardi gras but instead of a parade its just one huge chorus of sobbing peons trying to get up on my float in hopes of all my coolness rubbing off on them  
TG: but it’s not the time to rub anything and no thats not supposed to be an innuendo  
TG: anyway yeah im your assigned guide to hell so welcome  
TG: eternal doom is over there and no we dont do take backs also theres no cold water you just gotta deal with this together with the rest of us poor unfortunate souls  
TG: damn ursula really knew how to be dramatic  
  
You started banging your head on your table again repeatedly by the third message, earning you a flaming red forehead, which you immediately covered with your bangs, and an even bigger headache.  
  
It’s moments like these when the things you write turn out to be kind of lame and not really ironic at all, not that you’d ever admit that out loud though, that you really wish pesterchum had a delete feature for messages. It doesn’t though so you just have to deal with the fact that this is the first impression you’re going to make. Yep.  
  
At some point you started anxiously tapping your feet against the legs of your table, making it shake slightly. You run your hand through your hair to calm down. In the process you end up touching your forehead and cringe from the pain. It takes all your willpower to not slam your head down again in frustration.  
  
In a way you really liked not knowing what to write a lot better than whatever just happened, because at least not writing at all would only have seemed douchy. Now you had to deal with seeming like a douche and possibly really annoying and or stupid.  
  
Back in high school your teachers often told you that your way of expressing yourself wasn’t appropriate and seemed like you didn’t know what you were talking about and trying to conceal that fact with spouting whatever came to your mind. You don’t know whether that’s true or not you just know that you ended up rambling at them and getting into trouble.  
  
With a sigh you decide to sit up and look for some food and who knows you might even find some apple juice if you’re lucky. You stand up with a practiced swagger and pause in front of a mirror to make sure that your hair covers the red spot that your frustration earned you. Your bro didn’t need to know that you lost your cool.  
  
You also check your expression and sunglasses. Once you’re completely sure that you look as apathetic as possible you exit your room, nodding at your brother briefly as you pass him on your way to the kitchen.  
  
He seems to be sewing a new smuppet while watching trash TV. You decide not to bother him.  
  
You walk over to your fridge only briefly wondering whether you’ll need to sidestep to evade shitty swords that might fall out of it, before you remember that you don’t have to worry about that anymore.  
  
Bro stopped storing his shitty swords in there a long time ago; he actually only did it once. It was one of those days he didn’t feel like cleaning properly and just put all his stuff in the next best place. That day you tried opening the fridge as well and nearly got hit by some of them, since then he’s been more careful about where he puts his swords and other weapons.  
  
You still think it’s kind of shitty parenting but he tries and you can appreciate that, even more so because the fridge is actually full for once when you open it this time. It seems as if Bro has been grocery shopping earlier.  
  
Looking around the fridge you try to decide what the best food for stress eating is before your eyes settle on two huge bottles of your favorite apple juice. You smile briefly before you take the juice and some stuff to make a sandwich.  
  
It’s not as good as a real meal but it’s something for now. You stack the ingredients with the practiced ease of a 18 year old that stays up late way too often and ends up having midnight snacks at 3am regularly. Once you’re finished with your own sandwich you decide to make one for your brother too. You’re not really a fan of verbal thanks, but you’re sure he’ll understand the gesture.  
  
You still draw a dick on it with ketchup though. No one said you couldn’t be immature about this.  
  
With food and AJ in hand you saunter back over to the couch, placing one of the plates in front of your brother with another small nod. He nods back and you decide that you had enough interaction with him for now.  
  
The trip back to your room is a short one albeit a dangerous one if you’re not careful to not trip over any of the cables lying around. You learned early to never trust the floor in your apartment.  
  
Once back in your room you decide to not check your computer just yet; instead opting to sit on your unmade bet and consume your freshly acquired loot. Loot as in a sandwich and juice. You’re not sure why you phrased it like that, but somehow the idea of fighting monsters that drop apple juice seems appealing to you. Maybe you could write a rap about that.  
  
You ponder the possibilities of getting into nerdcore while you eat your food. You keep thinking about it afterwards, your fingers tapping a random beat besides you until a sudden noise demands your attention.  
  
You jump a little from the unexpected distraction and it takes you a moment of frantic looking around to reorientate yourself. The noise doesn’t make sense to your brain until your gaze flicks over to your computer where a window is blinking at you impatiently.  
  
A startled noise escapes you as you jump from your bed in a hurry, your feet catching on a cable making you fall into your computer chair rather ungracefully.  
  
In front of you pesterchum keeps blinking with a new message.  
  
Your exchange undergrad messaged you back.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey!  
> So I don't usually write for homestuck and I know I should work on my other fanfics but this is kind of a vent fic?  
> It's not betad or proof read and it's mostly just me projecting so it might be kind of ooc.  
> (Also still figuring out the formatting tbh)
> 
> But if that doesn't bother you I hope you'll have fun reading this!


End file.
